


The Moon And Its Eclipse

by adamwhatareyouevendoing



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Forgiveness, Guilt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamwhatareyouevendoing/pseuds/adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: “Look at me,” Clark pleads. “I’m back, Bruce. It’s time to stop beating yourself up about it.”Bruce stays, after helping the Kents unpack.





	The Moon And Its Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Something Just Like This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FM7MFYoylVs) by Coldplay, for fairly obvious reasons.
> 
> I have been trying to finish writing this since November, and finally, working a 12-hour night shift helped out!

The evening light is slowly dwindling to darkness by the time the contents of the removal van are safely returned to the Kents’ home, the setting sun casting long shadows of the farmhouse and barn across the cornfields.

Through the thin walls, Bruce can hear Mrs Kent unpacking in the kitchen, one floor below. She is humming something, too low for him to be able to identify the tune, but he can make out the crackle of the radio beyond. She sounds happy. Not for the first time, he is grateful that Superman’s— _Clark’s_ —return to the land of the living was successful. Maybe he had not been thinking about Martha Kent’s happiness at the time—perhaps his reasoning was more selfish than he can admit, even to himself—but he cannot deny that he is glad of it now. 

He stands, somewhat at a loose end, in Clark’s childhood bedroom, a box in his hands. The man himself is outside, bidding goodbye to Lois with a heartfelt gratitude that had driven Bruce indoors, unable to witness it. He’s not entirely certain what the situation is with the two of them, but he has no right to pry.

Perhaps it stands to reason that whilst he had no right to share in Lois’s grief, their time without Clark has resulted in widely differing outcomes now that he has returned. Lois, perhaps, was able to move towards acceptance. It is likely that Bruce would not have reached that stage even if he had a century, like Diana.

He places the box down on the desk he and Clark had carried in together, even though Clark could easily have managed it by himself, and sits heavily on the bed. In this room—the room where Clark grew up—it is hard not to think about the massive lapse in judgment he had made, treating Clark Kent as nothing more than a cover for Superman. In all the reports and video clips he had compiled and analysed, the only feature had been Superman. Now he knows that Clark is the truer of the two.

The sound of the bedroom door closing breaks into his awareness. Bruce does not turn towards the source of the noise, although it’s a close thing. He is all too aware now of where he is sitting, of the potential imposition, trespassing here in Clark’s room where he does not belong.

“Bruce,” Clark says, softly. He does not sound angry to find Bruce here. It is a kindness Bruce cannot permit himself. 

With great effort, he turns to face Clark. It would be easier if he were facing down a criminal in a darkened Gotham alleyway. There would be less to fear.

“Thank you,” Clark says, “for all of this.” He waves his hand expansively, as though encompassing not just the act of buying the house—or indeed the bank—but staying long enough to help unpack. That goes a lot further, means a lot more, and Bruce knows it. So, too, does Clark, if the way he is looking at Bruce is any indication.

Bruce nods, once; a sharp, abortive motion. “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do, after...” His throat closes on the words.

Clark sits down next to him, and Bruce wishes he wasn’t so aware of the way the bed gives beneath his weight as he settles, of the warmth of Clark’s body against the length of his, so close to touching but not quite there.

“I’m sorry,” Clark murmurs, after a while, and Bruce turns to him, confusion on his face. “About... what happened at the monument,” he clarifies.

“Don’t be,” Bruce tells him honestly. “The team knew it was a risk.”

Clark’s expression shifts minutely and Bruce can read the guilt there before he quickly covers it. “I meant — I could have killed you.”

Bruce shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. “I was willing to make the trade.”

Clark studies him, and Bruce knows he can see the truth of the words, despite his poor attempt to downplay the sentiment. He fights not to shift beneath the scrutiny.

Eventually Clark nods, as though satisfied with whatever he can read in his eyes. “Just, accept my apology?” he asks, but Bruce shakes his head instinctively and looks away, feeling the familiar rush of guilt.

“I think, in the circumstances, it should be you asking for an apology. Don’t you?”

Clark is quiet for a long time, and Bruce is just beginning to worry that he might get up and leave, perhaps unable to forgive him, when he nudges Bruce’s shoulder softly with his own.

“Diana told me that it was you who wanted to bring me back.”

Bruce nods, not trusting his voice.

“Why?”

There is a hurt there, beyond the words. He can understand Clark’s confusion. The Superman at the monument was right, despite not being truly Clark. Bruce would have killed him, all those months ago, if he hadn’t been interrupted. He wouldn’t have let him live. He couldn’t.

“I was wrong,” he says. It’s not a feeling he’s familiar with, and even less comfortable in admitting, but Clark deserves to hear it. He forces himself to make eye contact. “I thought the world would be safer without Superman, but everything with Steppenwolf only happened because you were gone.”

“And if it hadn’t worked? If I hadn’t come back?” Clark asks, but there’s no heat behind the words.

“If there’s even a one percent chance of something happening, it should be treated as an absolute certainty,” Bruce says. He cannot bear to think of the circumstances of the last time he used that reasoning, but he does not allow himself to look away from Clark as he says it. “It was a necessary risk. The world needed Superman. And the team needed Clark.”

He bites down on saying anything further, but, of course, he’s talking to the one man who knows when he’s not telling the whole truth. His heartbeat quickens slightly, traitorous.

“Bruce.”

“ _I_ needed Clark,” he says tightly, gaze fixed on a point beyond Clark’s shoulder. “I need you.” It is a weakness, he knows, but not one he has had time to counter. Being here, surrounded by Clark, has broken through every defence he keeps in place.

“You have me,” Clark says, open and honest. “You didn’t kill me, Bruce. You didn’t.”

And that, perhaps, is the kindest thing by far.

“Look at me,” Clark pleads. When he does, Clark’s expression is infinitely soft. “I’m back, Bruce. It’s time to stop beating yourself up about it.”

At last, Bruce nods.

Clark’s hand finds his, resting on his thigh. “Stay,” he says. Bruce does not need to ask whether he is certain.

It is a further weakness, to grip Clark’s hand with his own, and agree.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [skatingthinandice](http://skatingthinandice.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
